


Forgetting

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-06
Updated: 2001-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark overhears something he desperately wants to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Dreamskein for beta'ing ever so quickly. This is the result of a chat in #smallville and I decided I wanted to do something to poor Clark (i'm not spoiling it for you). Any mistakes still present in this fiction are the fault of Bill Gates and gremlins on the Internet. 

## Forgetting

by Kalia

[]()

* * *

Forgetting   
by Kalia 

Rating: G 

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to DC and the WB. I'm only taking them out to play and putting them back much happier then you last left them. I have no money and unless you want pay off my college debt don't bother suing. 

Archive: Permissions giving by request. 

Spoilers: Not any but lets say all episodes to date to be safe. 

Warnings: None 

Summary: Clark overhears something he desperately wants to forget.

* * *

Shrugging his slipping backpack higher onto his shoulder, Clark walked up the driveway towards home as the sun set. A couple of guys in his English class had acted up in class so much that the Mr. Davidson decided to punish the entire class. Thanks to them, instead of heading to Pete's house to hang out playing video games, he and his classmates had to write a 15 page typed report on To Kill a Mockingbird and it was worth 50% of his final grade for the class due in two days. To make it worse, they hadn't even started discussing the book in class. Life really sucked, especially knowing that Chloe and Pete were off having fun.

"What did the doctor say, Martha?" asked his father with a quaver in his voice. Clark's fingers brushed against the rough metal of the screen, and his hand dropped away from the door and to his side. The question of stay or go ran through his mind, and curiosity won out. 

"My test results came back. My white blood cell count is high. Along with the results of some of the other tests, there's a high possibility of cancer," she said. He heard a paper towel being ripped from the roll and the sound of his mother crying. "What if it's true, Jonathan? What are we going to do?"

"He just said there's a chance. The test results could be wrong," replied his father huskily. 

"But what if they're not? What if I do have cancer? The medical bills alone could easily run through the money we just borrowed from the bank. We could lose the farm and I don't want to die and leave you and Clark," she said through her tears.

"We'll take this one day at a time Martha. We'll get through this."

Clark stood at the doorway, staring ahead. His mother could be dying this very second. He'd saved her and his close friends time and time again, plus the 150-odd students at the homecoming dance, but those were against enemies he could fight. How was he supposed to fight an incurable disease? He wanted to go inside and hug his parents and tell them he already knew. He wanted never to have overheard the conversation and to go on with his life as if it hadn't happened. He wanted to yell and scream that it wasn't fair. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead he dropped his red backpack on the ground and ran.

Tears burned his eyes so badly he could barely see where he was going, but he kept running until he couldn't see anything. Then he tripped and fell on his face, leaving an imprint of his body on the ground. Slamming his right fist into the soil over and over, he drove a three-foot deep impression on the fallow field. He wanted to forget. Just for a while. Just to forget. 

There was a convenience store/gas station run by an old couple by the highway around 30 miles from town, mostly a stop-off for truckers. The juniors and seniors always talked about it. The owners didn't card anybody; if you looked old enough to buy beer they'd sell it to you. That's what he needed to do, get drunk and forget. First he had to clean up a bit, he couldn't go there looking like a bawling baby. He ran to the bridge where he first met Lex, and scrubbed the dirt and tears from his face. Then he ran again, this time with a goal firmly in mind.

He walked straight to the liquor and considered his choices. His schoolmates usually drank beer to get a buzz, but he didn't just want a buzz. He wanted to be dead drunk, so that even the simplest thoughts took minutes of effort. Vodka, that would do. He grabbed the biggest bottle with the highest proof he could find, then for added measure took another one. If this didn't work on him, nothing would. The old woman behind the counter looked at him oddly as he paid but gave him $1.37 change from his twenty. Leaving the store he ran back to the river and hid under the bridge.

He drank the first bottle as quickly as possible, only stopping to breathe. He ignored the horrid taste and the burning sensation in his throat and chugged it down. This wasn't for pleasure. A quarter of the way through the second bottle, Clark had an idea. He'd go see Lex. Lex was old enough to drink, he'd know how to get drunk. So he ran, bumping into trees and apologizing to them as they fell over, following the road but away from it enough that any late night drivers wouldn't spot him. Another quarter of a bottle was gone when he reached the Luthor castle, mostly from drinking, though there were some spills along the way. He squeezed his way thought the bars, and anointed the driveway with a few drops of vodka as he stumbled unsteadily up the drive. 

He pounded at he door while leaning against the doorbell. "Lex, hey Lex," he shouted.

Finally the door opened and he was staring down at Lex's face.

"You mind getting off the doorbell?" Lex asked curiously.

"Wha... umm O.K.," he replied. "Lex I ... ummm. Can I come in?"

"Sure," said Lex, stepping back to let him past.

Clark entered, taking another swig from the bottle, and stumbled into the living room, collapsing on the couch. "I ne-" he slurred slightly. "I need you to help me get drunk."

"You sound like you're already drunk, Clark."

"Not drunk enough. I can still remember."

"Remember what?" asked Lex pulling up a chair so he could look Clark in the eyes as they spoke.

"Remember what they were talking about. How she's probably sick," he paused taking a long drink from the bottle. "And she's going to die and leave us."

"Clark, maybe I should call your parents."

"No. You gotta teach me how to get drunk," he replied petulantly.

"I will..." he said, stalling. "Let me just call your parents and then I'll get you something better then whatever it is you're drinking."

"O.K., Lex," said Clark, with a dazzling smile. Lex took the bottle from Clark's hand and walked out of the room. He returned a while later and Clark frowned at him. "Where's the liquor?"

"It's chilling in the fridge. It'll work better that way," Lex lied. Clark waited and waited and was finally about to complain about not caring if chilling the stuff made it better when the doorbell rang. "Be right back."

"Look, Mr. Kent," Clark overheard Lex saying. "He was like this when he got here. I took the bottle away from him, but he's a little wasted. He was saying something about someone being sick and going to die."

"Clark," said his father standing in the doorway. "It's time to come home, son."

"No, I don't wanna. I want to get drunk and forget."

"That's not going to help, son. It won't change things," he said walking over and resting his hand on his shoulder.

"You father's right, Clark. This won't help," agreed Lex.

"I don't care. I don't wanna go home."

"You're coming home Clark. You need to sleep this off and tomorrow we'll sit down and talk about this." He grabbed Clark's forearm to pull him up off the couch.

"No!" he shouted. Pushing at his father with his free hand, sending him flying to the floor. "Sorry! Sorry! I'm so sorry."

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" shouted his father. Clark stopped rising and cringed back in the couch.

"I'm so sorry... Didn't mean to."

"Get in the truck right now!"

"No. I can't watch her die slowly. I can't fight it for her. I can't make it go away. I'm not strong enough to. I want to forget," he said through tears.

"Mr. Kent," interrupted Lex. "Maybe you should just let him sleep this off here. I'll bring him home in the morning."

"Fine, hide here if you want, Clark. I'm going home to comfort your mother, who know has to worry about your behavior on top of this." 

Clark watched as his father limp out of the room, and listened to the front door slam shut. He turned towards Lex and said, "Can I have a drink now?"

"No," replied Lex walking over to him. "Trust me on this, from someone who's been there. It won't help."

"I want to."

"Fine, you want to get drunk, I'll bring you some good stuff. You can drink yourself to oblivion." Lex knelt down so he could look Clark in the eyes before continuing. "Then if you don't get alcohol poisoning, you'll wake up in the morning and it will all come back. So you'll do it again, and again and again. Then when someone tries to stop you, like your dad did tonight, you'll push them or hit them, until one day when you do that, you end up killing someone. Is that what you want from your life, Clark? Because if it is, I'll get you that drink."

"I don't want to hurt anyone."

"I know you don't, but you already are. You're hurting your parents not by going home. You hurt your dad when you threw him across the room."

"I should go home," said Clark standing up, swaying on his feet.

"No, you should let me help you up to a guest bedroom," replied Lex, keeping Clark steady. "Your mother doesn't need to see you like this and your dad can probably use the time to calm down."

"O.K."

Together they made it up the stairs slowly to the second floor of the mansion. "You know, in a way you're kind of lucky."

"How?"

"If your mother is dying, you know about it. You can spend time with her and let her know she's appreciated. You probably won't do really foolish stuff like getting drunk anymore so she won't worry about you. So that once she passes, you won't have many guilty regrets." Lex looked away and seemed far off for a while. "Stay here, I'll bring you something you can sleep in."

He stared after Lex. He almost sounded as if he knew what those regrets were like. He'd have to ask him later... maybe. 

To get comfortable he kicked off his shoes without untying them and pulled the flannel shirt over his head. He couldn't work with the buttons. Lex returned carrying a pair of satin gray pajamas.

"Here you go, these look like they'll fit you. They were a gift from somebody. Not my style either," said Lex nervously. "There's a bathroom over there and if you need me my bedroom is just across the hall. Goodnight Clark."

Lex left the room and closed the door behind him. Clark threw off his jeans and boxers, then went into the bathroom. He took a quick shower, then went back into the bedroom and put on the pajama pants. Lying down on the bed after shutting off the lights, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Minutes passed, becoming an hour, then another, and still he lay on the bed awake. His mind was still racing, reeling from the day's events. So, he stood up and left the room, walking quietly to the one across the hall.

Carefully and quietly so as not to wake Lex, Clark tiptoed over to the bed and looked at the sleeping figure. Moving carefully, he climbed into the bed and curled up in a fetal position on top of the covers, as close as he dared. Soon Clark fell asleep.


End file.
